


abandon all hope, ye who enter here

by newvision



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 05:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newvision/pseuds/newvision
Summary: When Minghao comes to in the darkened alleyway that reeks of burnt coffee beans and cat piss, the only clear thought in his head is “Oh, fuck.”a.k.a the one where a nondescript coffee shop is the innermost circle of hell for the unfortunate immortals condemned to do time there (read: demon!minghao and angel! mingyu)





	abandon all hope, ye who enter here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [besitos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/besitos/gifts).



> dearest isa, 
> 
> i really hope this resembles what you had in mind,,,,.. the idea amused me so i'm hoping as hard as possible that it will make you (at least) exhale-laugh, or give a little ease to the holidays and the fast-approaching new year. i don't believe we've spoken much, but your company is a delight in the little moments that i've been awarded it, and i hope that this time of year treats you well! 
> 
> (fun fact: the title is from dante's inferno bc it's 1. an excuse to run away with your angel/demon prompt and my coffeeshop hell metaphor and 2. one of my favourite quotes. i try, i really do.) 
> 
> that being said, i did have a lot of fun writing these boys (although i do wish i'd made it longer, but alas), so thank you for your prompts and your very detailed secret santa letter - i'd be lost without it, honestly. happy reading <3

When Minghao comes to in the darkened alleyway that reeks of burnt coffee beans and cat piss, the only clear thought in his head is “Oh,  _ fuck _ .”

 

It takes him several seconds to fully recalibrate to his surroundings, mainly due to the fact that his head feels very much like someone had played a cosmic game of Whack-A-Mole with it. His hands are grimy, his mouth tastes distinctly of dirt, and if there’s a rotten banana peel on his head, he’s sure he’s going to start crying.

 

With a gargantuan amount of effort, he forces himself to sit up, wincing at his sore tailbone. He’s up to his waist in garbage, having landed rather unceremoniously in a dumpster.  Instinctively, he reaches for his gnarled sceptre, but his hands only come into contact with empty air. This, unfortunately, doesn’t come as much of a surprise to him. He’d figured the gods wouldn’t allow him any little kindness, especially after his magnificent screw-up. Even now, he winces at the memory of Wonwoo’s thunderous voice exasperatedly repeating the phrase ‘ _ One job, Minghao. You had one job. _ ’ It takes a lot to rile up an eternal being who’s supposed to be the epitome of neutrality and justice, so all things considered, Minghao understands that his screw-up was pretty bad. Enough to land him a 6-month stint on Earth as a mortal, apparently, according to Wonwoo’s judgement. He’s done the crime - so now all that’s left to do now is do the time, and then saunter back down to the hell from whence he came. 

 

The only thing he may have left to show for this is that even after spending 6000 years as a demon, this is the one and only time he’s been sent to work at Styx Coffee. He’s heard the horror stories, of course; the permanent understaffing, the eternally snaking lines of sleep-deprived college students and irritated corporates who go on tirades, yelling at you for not being able to make them a Froot Loops Frappuccino  _ immediately _ . One would think that demons would have some kind of a monopoly on suffering, but as it turns out, the big guys in the sky really knew how to splinter a soul. As someone who’s been in the business of eternal damnation for as long as he has, Minghao would call that a talent. In fact, even Jeonghan had looked wrecked when he’d finally returned from his stint at the shop - he was clad in his usual charcoal suit and had his hair slicked back, but behind his eyes he was long dead. Over shots of Fyre, he’d told Minghao, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung of all the horrors the human world held.

 

“They torture each other just by existing in close proximity,” Jeonghan had informed them, swirling his glass slightly. “It’s a wonder we’re not already out of a job.” He snorts, then downs his drink. For a few seconds, his eyes burn bright orange before they simmer down to their usual hazy coral. 

 

“No one does eternal damnation better than us,” Soonyoung had rebutted almost instantly, frowning at Jeonghan’s pessimistic remark. 

 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jeonghan replies, staring forlornly into the distance. Minghao immediately holds up two fingers, getting their group another round of 5 shots. “It’s like an art, almost. So subtle,” he mutters, blinking at his empty glass. “We’re too flashy, that’s what I’ve learnt from this.”

 

“So nothing about how you shouldn’t screw up assignments by sleeping with angels?” Seungkwan cuts in, sarcasm dripping from his tone. 

 

“Absolutely not,” Jeonghan replies instantaneously, grinning far too widely. “In fact, I’d do it again.” At this, Seungkwan screeches and reaches forward to whack Jeonghan on the arm, effectively setting fire to their table as the drinks spill. The rest of the night passes by in shrieks of laughter and about 5 more spontaneous combustions, this time courtesy of a certain Kwon Soonyoung. Despite his irritation at the time, Minghao finds himself thinking that he’d give anything to be back there. 

 

Instead he stands, grimaces at the stink of pure garbage coming off his clothes, and strides towards the coffee shop to meet his fate.

 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t meant for his fate to come in the form of a certain angel - Kim Mingyu, to be precise. Minghao watches, shell-shocked, as the other man slides on his uniform shirt in plain sight behind the counter. Not even bothering to crouch, he’d pulled off a ratty t-shirt covered in stains in favour of the Styx attire - dri-fit, probably, the human world’s most uncomfortable material. Minghao watches the way it slides down Mingyu’s awfully toned stomach far too smoothly. Minghao frowns as he pats his own stomach, which is noticeably void of abs and also seems to be burning slightly, like he’s waist-deep in acid. Chalking up the strange sensation to the unknown wonders of the human body, he pushes the glass door open with the tinkling of a bell. Mingyu looks up immediately, their eyes meeting in a moment of complete mutual horror as the sound of the bell fades, leaving them in awkward silence. 

 

“What are you doing here?” they ask in unison. Mingyu goes red as Minghao looks to the floor, pausing for a second as he realises he’s in slides. They’re surprisingly comfortable despite their hideousness, so he supposes he’ll have to live with them - for now. Once he gets enough in minimum wage to get himself a new pair of St. Laurent shoes, these are going straight into his personal furnace. At least Mingyu looks like he’s having a far worse fashion experience than Minghao, wearing a pair of too-small loafers that seem to be slowly squeezing the life out of his feet. 

 

“You first,” Mingyu offers meekly, ever the gentleman. Minghao lets out a long-suffering sigh.

 

“I messed up something that I wasn’t supposed to,” he tells Mingyu. He likes keeping it short and sweet when it comes to things like this, troublesome explanations and the like. He has eternity, sure, but isn’t it far more fun to spend less time reflecting on mistakes when he could be using all that time to make more of them? 

 

“Haven’t we all?” Mingyu replies, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, well, it landed me here this time,” Minghao counters, the unspoken ‘with  _ you _ ’ hanging in the air between them. Mingyu looks away.

 

Clearing his throat as if that would somehow dispel the awkwardness, Mingyu pointedly tells Minghao to go dig his uniform up from the room in the back before he quickly turns back to fiddling with the coffee maker with his huge, stupid hands. Not that the size of them matter, it’s just hard to forget hands like that when they belonged to the immortal Minghao had trusted most - but that was once, long ago, and right now he’s a barista in a coffee shop functioning as a metaphor for punishment and limbo, which means he has bigger fish to fry. He stalks into the backroom, hoping to all the gods that they could at least let him find his uniform easily. Just one small mercy, if they’ll allow it.

 

The gods say no, and spit on him while they’re at it. He finds himself on his knees, rooting through the dust-covered shelves for a new shirt. Minghao wrinkles up his nose for what seems like the umpteenth time, letting out yet another enormous sneeze as he unearths another bag of coffee beans. Holding back a scream of rage, he clenches his fist and presses it against the cold concrete of the floor. 

 

“If I were an ugly, ugly shirt where would I be?” Minghao mutters to himself, putting his head between his hands.

 

“Under the milk cans,” Mingyu says from behind him, sounding somewhat amused. Minghao stumbles to his feet, trying somewhat pointlessly to dust off the cargo pants he’s been made to wear. His hands flutter nervously, and he doesn’t miss the way Mingyu eyes him as he tries (and he tries, very hard) to pull himself together.

 

“Right,” Minghao replies, crouching to pull a shirt out. “Er, thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome!” Mingyu beams, sounding far more pleased than he should. However, when Minghao turns to blink at him with what he hopes is an intimidating stare filled with The Fires of Hell, Mingyu only sighs exasperatedly at him. “Are you still doing that?” he asks, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway. “I’ve known you for 6000 years, you think that scares me?”

 

“It used to,” Minghao mutters sourly. This makes Mingyu pause.

 

“Maybe once,” he admits, tilting his head. “But then I knew you. And you don’t have a single fearsome bone in your body.” 

Minghao’s jaw drops, but before he can reply with anything to redeem his dignity, he hears the shop’s bell jingle. Mingyu’s face lights up, and he stretches a beefy hand out to Minghao, who’s still very much on the floor. In fact, he thinks he’d very much like to stay on the floor, and take another century-long nap. During the old times, that would’ve been acceptable - things were cumbersome and slow enough just as they were, meaning that the humans were driving themselves crazy all on their own - giving Minghao the best sleep he’d had in decades. Now, unfortunately, that’s impossible. Sighing, he slides his hand into Mingyu’s palm (pleasantly warm but slightly clammy, as it always was) and trudges over to the coffee maker. 

 

                                                           ---

 

“One iced latte!” Mingyu calls from the counter, making Minghao groan. 

 

“Another one?” he mutters, still trying to pull on the lever that (presumably) dispenses the steamed milk. “Gods, can’t this blasted thing work?” Minghao curses, banging his hand uselessly against it.  “I’m going to kill you,” he tells the coffee machine. “So if you don’t want that, you’d better get to work.” The machine shrieks at him, and then shits a boiling volume of hot coffee onto his bare hands.

 

“Thanks,” Minghao says flatly. And then he screams. 

 

Immediately, Mingyu is by his side, leaving behind the snaking line of disgruntled customers. “What’s happened?” he asks, his eyes already desperately searching Minghao’s form for any sign of injury.

 

“Nothing,” Minghao insists, hiding his injured hand behind his back, because how utterly ironic would it be for a  _ literal demon _ to be hurt by something that was a little too hot? Mingyu would never let him hear the end of it.

 

“Liar,” Mingyu accuses. “What’ve you got in your hand?”

 

“What?” Minghao asks, feigning innocence. When Mingyu doesn’t relent, Minghao crumples. “I found some candy,” he lies instead, and then lets out a stream of internal curses when he realises Mingyu’s going to point out the fact that he doesn’t even like candy. 

 

As prophesied, he says: “Minghao, you don’t even like candy.” Minghao freezes; he’s got him backed into a corner there, and he hasn’t devised a way out.

 

“Well, if you must know,” he starts, slightly miffed. “I saw a rat.”

 

“And that’s what’s in your hand?” Mingyu asks, raising an eyebrow again. “A rat.” Behind him, the customers are starting to get rowdy.

 

“Yes,” Minghao answers hurriedly. “I’m going to go feed it in the back room for a minute. Make sure the customers don’t burn down the shop while I’m gone,” he instructs Mingyu, then pauses. “Or actually, nevermind that.” And then he dashes to the storeroom to whimper at his very burnt hand. Human bodies are so very, very useless. 

 

                                                           ---

 

After what seems like an eternity later, Minghao emerges from the back room, cradling his burnt hand to his chest. He’d only managed to wash the coffee off whilst whimpering as the cold water ran over his it, because apparently swearing at it to heal does no good whatsoever. Now, he cradles it to his chest like a fragile baby bird and prays Mingyu won’t notice. 

 

Of course, Mingyu notices.

 

“Seriously, what’s wrong with your hand? Did your pet rat bite you?” Mingyu calls out sarcastically as Minghao passes behind him, causing the lady ordering at the counter to shoot him a disgusted look. 

 

“Did you just openly admit to there being rats in this establishment?” she all but  _ yells _ , which makes at least another 5 heads turn. 

 

“No, no, ma’am it was a joke,” Mingyu panickedly tries to assure her, his hands flying up in front of him as if they’d do anything to defend him from the wrath of a white lady scorned. The fear is evident in his eyes; Mingyu, ever the people-pleaser, does  _ not _ do well in confrontational situations. 

 

“I’d like to speak to your manager,” she insists instead, standing with arms akimbo. “See what he thinks of his employees making jokes about the hygiene of your store, ruining its’ reputation-”

 

“Actually,” Minghao interrupts coolly, stepping in. “I’m the manager.” Mingyu turns to him fast enough to give himself whiplash, but Minghao chooses to focus his energy on keeping himself straight-faced and radiating as much frightening energy as possible. The lady’s eyes widen almost comically, blinking rapidly as her gaze switches between Mingyu’s (enormous) form and Minghao’s frosty glare. 

 

“And what do you have to say for his behaviour?” she stammers out, reaching a hand out to wave vaguely at Mingyu’s form.

 

“The exact same thing he told you,” he answers, raising an eyebrow. “That it was a joke. And that if you’re dissatisfied with us joking around like human beings, you’re more than welcome to leave,” he tells her, finishing the sentiment off with a tight-lipped smile which makes him look distinctly un-human. Mingyu is still gaping at him, but for the sake of intimidation, he keeps his eyes fixed on their disgruntled customer. A few seconds of heated glaring later, she turns on her heel to leave, still muttering about poor service and a complete lack of professionalism. 

 

Satisfied, Minghao turns on his heel before he’s immediately put-out by the sight of his long-time enemy - the coffee machine. Letting out what seems to be his umpteempth long-suffering sigh, he trudges over to it and hangs his head, steeling himself for another ridiculous series of orders. Just before he can truly admit defeat, his ears prick up at the sound of his fellow damned colleague calling out to him. He tilts his head at Mingyu, shooting him a questioning gaze. 

 

“Thank you,” is all Mingyu mouths, giving Minghao a smile wide enough to make his eyes crinkle. Minghao does all he can to ignore the thudding in his heart, because it’s all these eons later and Mingyu’s eyes still sparkle the exact same way they always had, the way he remembers. The memory of a dimly-lit bookshop and them bumping noses behind the shelves as they’d kissed surfaces in Minghao’s mind almost automatically; the smile that Mingyu had given him that day was the same one that sits on his face now, a fractal of a memory buried so deep Minghao would’ve thought he’d forgotten it. Unfortunately for him, its resurfacing proves the opposite, and he spends the rest of the day reliving the memory of Mingyu’s hurried (but warm, welcoming) lips on his as they’d clung to each other whenever the world wasn’t watching - when they were on the same side, when Minghao still had beautiful white wings and a smile ready for anyone who needed it. Now all he has are broken attempts at redemption and the burnt hands of a demon who couldn’t even do his job right.

 

                                                              ---

 

5 excruciating hours of minimal communication and annoyed cursing later, Minghao finally slumps into a fetal position behind the counter. The customers have all but bled out for the day, leaving only the token straggler sipping slowly at his coffee that neither of them want to bother with chasing out. He lets his head fall back against the cupboards, closing his eyes for a second and praying that the locks of his hair smell more like freshly roasted coffee beans than the garbage from earlier that morning. Taking an experimental sniff at the length of his fringe, though, it seems like he’s out of luck. Minghao can only let out another colossal groan, which causes Mingyu to look down concernedly at him. He doesn’t notice the angel’s hesitant attempt to pat him on the head.

 

“Something wrong?’ Mingyu asks instead, as he dries the last couple of mugs far too aggressively.

 

“I wanna shower,” Minghao whines, picking at limp strand of hair disgustedly. “I’ve been stewing in garbage all day, and I feel positively disgusting.”

 

“Well, you can go home in a bit, so I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Mingyu tells him, amusement tugging at the edge of his tone.

 

“Home?” is all Minghao says.

 

“Yeah?” Mingyu echoes, but his brows are knitted with concern as he looks down at Minghao’s crumpled figure. “Why, don’t you have anywhere to stay?”   
  


“Do you?” Minghao fires back, sounding far more sullen than before. It’s only been a day since they’d reunited, but already a hot coil of jealousy is unfurling rapidly in his gut at the idea that Mingyu’s already gone and found himself another place to call home.

 

“No,” Mingyu admits, scratching behind his ear absentmindedly. “But you were always the more organized one, so I figured you’d have made…. arrangements. Don’t you have another-”

 

“No,” Minghao replies flatly, even though he’s secretly pleased at the information he’s unearthed. Idly, he stretches the fingers of his burnt hand, flinching at the sting. Noticing his discomfort, Mingyu drops to his knees and grasps at Minghao’s hand before he processes the situation enough to pull it away.

 

“You burnt your hand,” Mingyu discovers, as he turns it over ever so carefully in his (too big, too warm) palm. Then, looking up with what Minghao refuses to hope is disappointment, he asks: “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve taken care of you.”

 

“It was nothing,” Minghao snaps hurriedly, trying to extricate his hand from where Mingyu is gently examining his fingers. 

 

“It’s not nothing, it looks like it would’ve really hurt you,” Mingyu scolds him. Minghao despises the way the thing in his gut - hope - rears its stupid head in interest at the attention Mingyu is awarding him with.

 

“Yeah, well.” Minghao rebutts uselessly, his words failing as Mingyu raises a single, unamused eyebrow at him. “It was stupid. And we had work to do.”

 

“You still could’ve told me.” What goes unsaid:  _ Why didn’t you? _

 

“It’s just really not that bad,” Minghao continues to insist, but his eyes are downcast and Mingyu knows him well enough to definitively say that there’s something else at play in the midst of all this. Sighing gently, he pats Minghao’s hand and tells him to man the store while he runs to the pharmacy to get some ointment and bandages. Minghao, of course, absolutely refuses to let him do anything of the sort, but all it takes is a glare and a frown for him to finally pipe down. He ends up sulking at the counter like a dissatisfied cat until Mingyu finally returns. 

 

“Hey, why don’t we just stay here tonight? We can just nap on the coffee sacks and work on finding a place tomorrow,” Mingyu suggests quietly as he rubs ointment into the space between Minghao’s thumb and index finger.

 

“We?” is all Minghao replies with.

 

“We,” Mingyu affirms, but he’d gone blushy and shy as soon as he’d felt the weight of Minghao’s gaze on him. “This job doesn’t pay much, so I figured it’d be easier if we just shared.”

 

“Oh,” Minghao responds intelligently. “Did..they say how long you’d be here for?”

 

“3 months,” Mingyu informs him, his shoulders already sagging at the notion of having to spend another day in a mortal body. Somewhere deep in his chest, Minghao feels his heart break. “What about you?”

 

“They didn’t say.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah. It wasn’t good.”

 

“Who’d you do? Was this a Jeonghan situation?” 

 

“Aren’t you gonna take me out to dinner before you ask that?” Mingyu doesn’t laugh. There’s a beat of silence before Minghao continues. “Fine, fine. I was careless, and I let a soul go.”

 

“You  _ what _ ?”

 

“See, I knew you’d react like this,” Minghao snarls, snatching his hand away. “I don’t need more disappointment and shock, Wonwoo already let me have the worst tongue-lashing of my entire existence and I just - don’t need any more from you.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” Mingyu replies mildly, winding the bandages he’d bought around the wound like nothing was wrong, like Minghao hadn’t just admitted to being the cause of the biggest cosmic screw-up to occur in all of eternity. “I was just surprised. That doesn’t seem like something you’d do.”

 

“It isn’t,” Minghao groans, using his free hand to frustratedly push his hair out of his face. “It was stupid and soft-hearted and now I’m gonna be stuck here for god knows how long.” Another beat of sympathetic silence passes before Mingyu lets out a barking laugh and exclaims “Literally!” With a snort, Minghao lets his head fall forward until it rests propped up by the warmth of Mingyu’s shoulder. The angel stiffens imperceptibly, then relaxes again as Minghao’s hand comes to gently scratch appreciatively at his back.

 

“Thanks for the bandages.”

 

“My pleasure.” 

 

“....Now what?” 

 

“Sleep?”

 

“Oh, right. I forgot about that.”

 

It’s only when at least 3 hours pass and Minghao has been shifting uncomfortably on the coffee bags that Mingyu cracks an eyelid open and raises an arm automatically, inviting Minghao to come closer. Gratefully, Minghao crawls over and lays his head upon Mingyu’s chest - much more comfortable than a lumpy sack of coffee beans. 

 

“Hey, Mingyu?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What’d you do?”

 

“...You’re gonna laugh.”

 

“Why, what is it?” Minghao demands, propping himself up on his elbow just so he can get a good look at Mingyu’s face.

 

“I..accidentally planted an entire orchard of apple trees in the agriculture district.  _ He _ obviously wasn’t too pleased.”

 

Minghao has to stifle a surprised snort at this, instead opting to press his face into the warmth of Mingyu’s chest as his body shudders with silent laughter. Through his complaints of “Minghao,  _ shut up, _ ” Mingyu only presses his arms tighter around his frame.  _ I’ve missed this _ , Minghao suddenly realizes.  _ I’ve missed Mingyu _ . And then, a second later:  _ I’m fucked. _   
  



End file.
